The time has come. It’s the final episode of AFD in NYC and I’m officially headed back to Nashville! I’m going to go ahead and spoil the ending here: I don’t have a bow to tie on this experience. I don’t have my top ten takeaways. I don’t have big announcements or proclamations. But I do have a story to tell you…

I’d love for you to share your questions or thoughts for more episodes like this with me over on @thatsoundsfunpodcast. See you back here tomorrow on That Sounds Fun Podcast!

Previous Episodes:

AFD in NYC Episode 1

AFD in NYC Episode 2

AFD in NYC Episode 3

AFD in NYC Episode 4

AFD in NYC Episode 5

AFD in NYC Episode 6

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Transcript:

No better way to start this final episode of AFD in NYC than by cracking open the last LaCroix in my apartment’s fridge. I’ve got one shot at this, and I really want it for the audio, but if it doesn’t go well, well, what a loss that I’ve been saving this for days.

(Opening can)

But here we are. At the end. By the time you are hearing this, I am headed back to Nashville, lugging my overflowing suitcases down the stairs of my apartment building and out to the cab, through the LaGuardia airport, and home to my condo in Nashville.

Some friends have been staying in my Nashville house while I have been in New York City, so the teen daughters and I talked last weekend and they got out all the Christmas decorations and decorated my house. I cannot wait to see what they’ve done. (Tell me a better surprise to come home to than a house fully Christmas decorated by three teen girls. It’s going to be the best.)

I am glad to be going home.

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(If you are new to this podcast or this series, hi I’m Annie. I usually live in Nashville, but until today, I’ve lived a few months in New York City. This is the seventh, and final, episode in this series AFD in NYC. The first six are linked in the show notes below.)

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I’m going to go ahead and spoil the ending here: I don’t have a bow to tie on this experience. I don’t have my top ten takeaways, though I will share with you all my favorite restaurants and shows and etc this coming week- I promise! I don’t have big announcements or proclamations. 

But I do have a story to tell you.

My whole family was in town for Thanksgiving week… you may have seen that on my instagram or during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade where we made our family national television debut behind an Al Roker interview.

When my family left New York City on Saturday, I laid on my couch for about ninety minutes, with college football benignly playing in the background. And then an idea came to my head, “go back to The Met, go see the big paintings.”

I love big paintings. I love the tiny brush strokes that cover massive spaces. I love the colors colliding and mixing and the vision the painter must have to zoom out and see a finished piece and then zoom in and mix the exact right tone to work in the exact right spot. 

I had been to The Metropolitan Museum of Art a few weekends before with some friends, but we did a fly-over of the whole place, a “Get to know The Met” tour led by a college professor and volunteer docent. The rest of my friends had been before, so after the hour long tour, we just passed through some of the sections of the museum full of paintings. 

But I knew I wanted to go back. I wanted to go back and go slow and look for as long as I want at the biggest paintings they have.

It was about 4pm.

These are the moments when my intuition and my desire and an invitation from the Holy Spirit all seem to lose their edges and they start to mix together like soap in water or paint and I don’t know what is what, but in my most honest moment, I’ll tell you it felt like the Lord whispering in my ear to go.

So I did. Nothing to lose trusting that little push.

I walked in, bought my ticket, and then went straight to the info center.

“I want to see the really big paintings. The ones that cover the wall.” The young man smiled at me and kinda laughed and pointed up the grand staircase. “You know, a new exhibit just opened, and a section of it just re-opened for the first time in five years.”

I asked him when it opened.

“It just opened a few weeks ago, actually,” he responded, “Why don’t you start there?”

That’s when I knew I was on some wild adventure, designed by Someone greater than I, because since the last time, the only other time I’d been in this building, an entire big painting exhibit had re-opened. 

Did you know that in the Celtic tradition, the Holy Spirit is spoken of as a wild goose? So every time a story in my life starts like this, I’m reminded that life with God is legitimately a wild goose chase. And I’m here for it.

I put my air buds in, played the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack, and slowly wove my way through room after room of paintings. Small ones, large ones, ones the size of the walls. I read every little sign that caught my eye, came closer to every painting that beckoned me somehow. I gave myself permission to not care about every painting in every room, to not act like I love them all, but just trust my gut. Trusting my gut is what got me back in the museum that night, so I wanted to keep trusting.

The big ones of scenic fields and horse racing and cityscapes were amazing, but in a surprise turn of events to myself, it was the portraits that kept drawing me in. 

It was the faces. The bodies. The relationships. The mother’s eyes that follow you as you cross the room. The movement of farmers or ballerinas. The children piled up and laughing. The stately men posing alone, or with a dog. The brush strokes that show the curve of skin and the curve of a waist and the curve of a smile.

I would look at them. Then read about them. Then look at them again and wonder, who was this person and what would they think of THIS, their portrait- painted in 1450 or 1693 or 1814-  hanging in a museum in New York City in 2023?

There was one from 18th century Europe, probably double life size- so it DID, in fact, cover an entire wall, of three male friends, two sitting, one standing, all outside in a garden of some sort. The little sign said the one standing was a big deal in society at the time, this was a painting for his house, and the two sitting were his friends. 

All dressed like characters in Pride and Prejudice, my brain asked the weirdest question- I wonder if their clothes smell? Like, they didn’t have as many outfits as many of us do, and how often did they have to wash and did everyone just live at an acceptable level of human scent that we do not really prefer anymore?

I looked at their faces and wondered if, when they saw the massive painting of themselves, if they thought, “Yeah, that totally looks like me” or if they laughed at details that were just a little off in one way or another.

They looked to be in their 20s, and I wondered where their lives went, I wondered what happened just before and just after sitting for this portrait, I wondered what became of them.

And then I thought about me again, wandering alone in this massive museum, living, breathing, walking. Making decisions and making plans and I had this moment where I realized, they were once as living, breathing, and walking as I am now. 

These three men on this one canvas, and every other portrait painted and hanging in this section of The Met, is of a real person. A person that lived. A person that other people loved. A person who had choices and friends and family and work and possibly faith and love. A person who, by the time I’m standing in front of their portrait, is honestly long forgotten. Except maybe here, at The Met? But even now, I don’t remember their names. Just vaguely remember their faces.

My brain kept spiraling this same theme- THESE ARE ALL REAL PEOPLE- as I continued through the galleries of portraits. 

This may sound glum- but as I looked at each of them, I thought, 

Their decisions are all made. (And I have so many decisions I get to still make.)

They all finished the race. (And I am still running.) 

There is nothing left unknown about where this open door might lead or what this closed door might be about. (And I am still thankfully, as confused, as ever, about where all this goes.)

Because that all means that I AM STILL ALIVE.

We are all portraits, waiting to be painted, and hung in a museum somewhere. Long after we are gone, long after all our decisions have been made and our one precious life has been lived, we will maybe hang in a gallery somewhere, so people see us, with our friends, and wonder if we smelled. If we laughed. If we figured it all out.

But by then, this part of our story will be done.

Therefore, 

Carpe Diem.

Seize the day.

At the end of two months in New York City, I’m not going to tell you what I am going to do next. I am going to tell you what you should do.

Everything.

Do absolutely everything you want to do.

Try.

Risk.

Fail.

Win.

Go.

Stay. 

Just don’t let that hold you back.

I don’t know your THAT, but just don’t let THAT hold you back.

Fear. 

Money.

Your body.

Your age.

Your worries.

Your past.

Mistakes.

Shame.

What THEY will think.

Don’t let THAT hold you back.

Do everything you can to make sure the little sign by your portrait says, “she didn’t let that hold her back.” or “He really went for it.” 

I know what is coming, eternity after life as we know it, is better, but if this is a foretaste, open your dang mouth and take the biggest bite you can out of this life. We do NOT get to do this again. We get to do another part of our long story, but this part? The part that portraits are made of? It’s our one shot.

One LaCroix.

One life.

Carpe Diem. Please please please. Don’t let that hold you back. 

Go on the walk.
Start the conversation.

Apply for the job.

Move.

Audition.

Go to the museum. 

Just go to an art gallery or an art museum. Just go look at their faces. They are telling you, too.

Don’t let that hold you back.

Seize the day.

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If you have thoughts to share, there’s a great place for that on instagram… @thatsoundsfunpodcast. Thanks for following along on this journey with me. I’m deeply grateful. Hope y’all have a great weekend, and I’ll see you back here Monday on That Sounds Fun, with a conversation about my two months in NYC with my three best gals…. Mary Kate Morrissey, Ginna Claire Mason Moffett, and Meredith Toering.

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